Starting Over on Blackberry Lane--A Romance Novel Page 4

  Steve was packed and gone in two hours, leaving her with the parting words “Keep the ring and have a nice life.”

  She already had a nice life. And that was the problem. She wanted more. What if she never got it?

  What had she done?

  Chapter Three

  Cass returned home from Griffin’s shower to find Dan Masters and Tilda’s husband, Devon Black, packing up their tools.

  “We can’t do much more with the ceiling until it dries out, but we’ve patched the hole. Don’t forget what I told you about that roof.”

  “I know,” Cass said with a sigh. “I’ve been putting off dealing with it.”

  “Some things you don’t want to put off,” Dan warned. “A new roof is one of them.”

  “The Linds put one on this summer, and it cost them thirty thousand dollars.” She didn’t have that kind of money in savings. She supposed she could take some out of her retirement fund. Or get a home equity loan. Ugh.

  “Ralph’s Roofing,” Dan said with a knowing nod. “They’re not cheap.”

  Devon shrugged. “At that price it’d be blue tarp city for Tilda and me. Thank God that’s not on the list.”

  Devon and Tilda had a fixer-upper and they’d been putting in a lot of work into it. Lucky girl to have a man to help her with her home repairs.

  “I can recommend someone who’ll help you,” Dan told Cass. “My dad.”

  “He a roofer?” Cass asked.

  “He’s an everything. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about houses. He started Masters Construction.”

  “So you worked for your old man?” Devon asked.

  “Yep. He taught me everything I know. Left me the business when he retired.”

  Before her pal Charley married Dan Masters, Cass had never heard of Masters Construction. They had worked primarily in Wenatchee and its close environs.

  But then Charley had needed her restaurant rebuilt after a fire, and Masters Construction won the bid. After that the construction company was very much in demand in Icicle Falls. They did good work—and they looked good, too. Women came into Gingerbread Haus talking about the “hunky construction guys.” Dan fell for Charley and was almost instantly off the market, but his employees were all single. They were also in their twenties and thirties—cougar prey.

  Cass wasn’t exactly cougar material. Those guys soon all had girlfriends anyway.

  “Is your dad gonna come back and work for you?” Devon joked.

  “Nope, but he is coming back to work. I knew that whole early-retirement thing wouldn’t last.”

  Cass had met Dan’s dad when she went to Las Vegas for Dan and Charley’s wedding. Her jaw had dropped at the sight of him. He’d been happily married back then, to a woman who had found her husband’s effect on other women more amusing than threatening. Of course, she’d been pretty and obviously secure in herself, sure of his love.

  There was no wife now.

  A sudden fantasy of herself getting pulled into the arms of a bare-chested man sporting jeans and a tool belt invaded Cass’s mind and she felt instantly guilty. The man was a widower, for crying out loud.

  How long had his wife been gone? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter anyway. He probably wasn’t interested in pudgy bakers.

  Oh, well. At least she could now drool over him with a clear conscience.

  “He went down to Mexico,” Dan continued. “Got tired of it and now he’s on his way up from Cabo. Planning on starting a new business—repairs and handyman stuff.”

  “Repairs?” There was the magic word.

  “He’ll be more affordable than Ralph,” Dan said.

  Anyone would be more affordable than Ralph. The big question was, could she afford anyone?

  And was Grant Masters seeing anybody?

  Oh, stop, she scolded herself. Not gonna happen. Anyway, the man thing hadn’t worked the first time around. She didn’t need a man to be happy. She had her business, her kids and her friends. And no sex life.

  Oh, well. A girl couldn’t have everything. Darn.

  * * *

  Griffin woke up Monday morning, still sleeping on the left side of the bed, leaving the right side empty for...the man who wasn’t with her anymore. It was weird to wake up alone. She felt a little like an orphan, which was rather silly considering the fact that she’d orphaned herself.

  She couldn’t help feeling sad. She and Steve had been together for so long, made memories, made plans. She’d crumpled up five years just like that and thrown them away. And she’d hurt him in the process. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him.

  She was also tired. She hadn’t slept well, kept hearing noises, noises she’d never been aware of when there was another body next to her in the bed. Once she’d gone as far as getting up to tiptoe to the bedroom door and peer out. Of course, she’d seen nothing. Burglars were hardly a common occurrence in this town. Anyway, what self-respecting burglar would bother with a place in need of paint and repairs? It didn’t exactly scream money.

  She went into the bathroom and it seemed naked without Steve’s razor and toothbrush in there. She showered and dressed, made her morning mug of coffee. Then she sat down at her old wooden kitchen table, looking out the window at a sunny day. A robin was hopping around in the backyard. The apple tree was beginning to bloom. Very idyllic.

  And a little lonely. Still, she knew she’d done the right thing breaking up with Steve. The fact that he hadn’t stuck around to fight for her was proof that what they’d had was more habit than grand passion. He’d be fine without her, was probably already ensconced in his parents’ basement, absorbed in testing a new video game. And she’d be fine without him.

  But they’d been together so long, she couldn’t help feeling slightly adrift. What was she going to do now?

  For the moment, work, although she certainly wasn’t making her fortune as a food photographer. Not for lack of trying, though. She had pictures for sale on a couple of stock-photography websites and was putting a lot of effort into her own website, offering pictures for sale there, as well. She had a food blog and some followers. She’d even managed to sell a couple of pictures to local magazines. But so far the kind of success she’d dreamed about had eluded her.

  In the world of pictures, competition was stiff, and trying to stand out in a sea of internet images was no easy feat. It seemed that the most successful food photographers worked with food stylists in New York, where all the big magazines and advertising companies were.

  At least she was making enough to live on (or had been until Steve left), and she was slowly developing her own unique brand, which focused on outdoor living and entertaining—things she had easy access to here in this small town.

  During the summer, many of her pictures had featured not only local goodies but local people—like Cecily Goodman’s daughter in pigtails and coveralls, poised over a bowl of fresh blackberries (plump and perfectly ripened with the help of a few dabs of black shoe polish). And Mia Wright, wearing an old-fashioned apron and holding a harvest of late-August apples (made extra-shiny with glycerin).

  She loved taking pictures, always had. She felt more comfortable behind the camera than in front of it, and capturing special moments of life for posterity had quickly gone from a hobby to a passion. She’d started taking photography classes in college, and the next thing she knew, her passion had become her trade.

  There wasn’t much you could do with a major in literature anyway, not unless you were a writer (which she definitely was not) or you wanted to teach. Standing in front of a room full of high school students trying to pull them away from their cell phones to imagine Ashley Wilkes rather than look him up on the internet didn’t appeal to her at all.

  Anyway, taking pictures was art. She couldn’t tell a story with words but she could with a snapshot. Lik
e the saying went, one picture was worth a thousand words.

  Now she was working with Beth Mallow, who had put together a cookbook featuring favorite recipes of her deceased mother, Justine Wright, and wanted to add pictures. Griffin had never met Justine, but from what she’d heard, the old woman had been one of a kind and much loved by everyone in Icicle Falls. She’d certainly known how to cook. So did Beth, who was creating her mother’s recipes for Griffin to photograph.

  Griffin finished off her coffee and headed out the door to Beth’s house. Today they were going to be using natural light, and she wanted to get there while it was still streaming in through Beth’s kitchen window. Apple scones were the subject of the day, and when Beth let Griffin in, the aroma that wafted out to her from the kitchen was enough to make every taste bud in Griffin’s mouth spring a leak.

  “I put out the red-checked tablecloth,” Beth said as she led Griffin into the kitchen, which was serving as their work studio. “And I picked up some apples at the store in case we want to use them. I’ve got three cake stands. You can see if any of those will work. Or, if you prefer, I also have a cute basket we can put them in with a cloth napkin.”

  Who needed a food stylist when you had Beth? “I’m sure we can come up with something great.”

  “By the way, I’m sorry I missed the shower.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Griffin said and hoped they could drop the subject.

  “I’ve got a little something for you, though. Did you get lots of nice gifts?”

  Okay, there would be no subject-dropping today. “I did, but I didn’t keep any of them.”

  Beth blinked at her. “You didn’t?”

  “We’re not getting married.”

  Another blink, followed by a cautious “Oh.”

  “It’s okay,” Griffin assured her. “We were sort of growing apart.”

  “Well, better to be sure,” Beth said diplomatically.

  That was what her mom had said when Griffin called her after Steve left, along with statements like “We never thought he was good enough for you” and “You can always move back home.” Yes, that would spell success.

  At least they hadn’t spent a lot on the wedding. It was going to be in her parents’ backyard and she’d planned to wear her grandmother’s bridal gown. Maybe someday she’d get to.

  Griffin nodded, then moved on. “These look great,” she said, checking out the batch of scones fresh out of the oven and sitting all golden brown and lovely on their cooling rack. Good enough to eat. Which was why she never had breakfast before coming over to Beth’s. Somehow she always ended up eating.

  “I hope you can find a hero somewhere in this batch,” Beth said, using the new term she’d learned from Griffin.

  A hero was the one picture-perfect food that would wind up being the final shot. They all looked delicious, but only three made the cut.

  “Is that enough?” Beth asked. “I can bake more.”

  “No, this will be fine.”

  “I had Mark help me move the kitchen table,” Beth said. The vintage red Formica table her family had used for years had been moved aside for this shoot, and a small white oak one that she’d found at Stacy Thomas’s shop, Timeless Treasures, was now placed in front of the window. The light was ideal.

  “I think for this shot we won’t use the tablecloth or the cake stand,” Griffin said.

  “What about the apples?” Beth asked.

  Griffin didn’t want to offend Beth. After all, it was her cookbook. Still... “I’m a little worried they’ll distract from the perfection of the scone.”

  Beth shrugged, unoffended. “No problem. I’m sure I can find something to do with them.”

  Griffin smiled. Beth was so easy to work with, so easy to please. “Did you say you had some cloth dinner napkins?”

  “Oh, you’re going to put them right on the napkins?”

  “It’ll look really pretty,” Griffin said. “And what if we took a bite out of one?”

  Beth smiled. “Fun! You want to do the honors?”

  Beth was always tempting her with fabulous goodies, and it was hard to stay strong. Sugar and carbs were like crack to her. “How about if you do it?”

  Beth shook her head. “Has anyone told you recently that you’d blow away in a stiff wind?”

  “I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”

  “You need fattening up.”

  She’d been there, done that. “If I have even one bite, I’ll eat the whole batch, and then we won’t get our picture,” Griffin said with a smile.

  “Okay. For now I’ll let you off the hook, but you need to let me send a couple of these home with you.”

  No doubt about it. Beth was a food pusher. Griffin would take one back to the house just to placate her.

  Back to the house. Interesting language. Beth had said home and Griffin had thought house. Hmm.

  She tried to ignore that random thought and got busy choosing from among the assortment of napkins Beth produced.

  Food photography styles were ever changing. They shifted from an overhead perspective to mimic the way a person usually saw her food to being shot with romantic lighting and props to extremely simple, clean and natural with few props, and even going messy, allowing crumbs or dribbles to sneak into a shot. There would be no crumbs allowed today, but Griffin did like the idea of having one scone with a bite missing, as if someone had been unable to resist it.

  An hour later they had their picture, the scones cuddled together on top of a red plaid cloth napkin.

  “I love it,” Beth said. Which was what she’d said about everything Griffin had done so far. It was hugely gratifying.

  “Now, why don’t I put on some water for tea and we’ll have a bite of one that didn’t make the cut.”

  Just a bite, Griffin decided, and helped Beth move her regular kitchen table back in place. Five minutes later they were seated with mugs of steaming tea and little plates, each bearing an apple scone.

  Griffin sampled hers and was sure she’d died and gone to carb heaven. “This is amazing.”

  Beth smiled. “My mom was amazing.”

  “So are you,” Griffin told her. “I don’t know how you do it, but your house has this great vibe. I feel so at home here.”

  “Good. That’s the goal, to make people feel at home when they come over. Oh, before I forget...” She left the room to return a moment later with a small box wrapped in pink paper and tied with a satiny white ribbon. “Your present.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “You can use this no matter what,” Beth said, nudging it forward.

  Feeling guilty but knowing Beth wouldn’t let her refuse, Griffin opened it. Inside, nestled in pink tissue paper, were two china cups and saucers; one set was gold trimmed and decorated with pink roses, while the other had lilies of the valley on the cup and a pale green saucer.

  “They’re lovely,” Griffin said.

  “My mother always said things taste so much better when they’re served in something pretty.”

  “They were your mother’s? Then I can’t...” Surely Mia Wright, Beth’s niece by marriage, would want them.

  “No. I found these at Timeless Treasures when I bought the table. I know most of us are more casual these days, but sometimes it’s fun to enjoy a little elegance. And even though there’s only one of you right now, you can still have a girlfriend over and use them.”

  “Thank you so much. I will,” Griffin said.

  In addition to the cups and saucers, Beth did, indeed, send her home with scones. When she got back to the house, she tossed the fat bombs before she could be tempted to inhale them. Then she gave the teacups a special place in the kitchen cupboard, which was full of cheap dishes and bits and pieces her mom had given her.

 
“I promise I’ll feature you in a picture somehow,” she murmured as she shut the cupboard door.

  She put on a thick sweater, made herself a cup of tea in her favorite mug, then wandered out onto her back porch and plopped down on the steps. Steve had been promising to fix that broken one since last August.

  Rain clouds were gathering and now they started spitting on her. A good day to edit some pictures on her computer. With a sigh she went back inside.

  She spent the rest of the day working on her pictures, then decided to write something for the blog.

  She needed a new photo, but it wouldn’t be right to use any of the ones she’d taken at Beth’s. Although Beth had said she didn’t mind, Griffin felt those pictures should be kept top secret until the cookbook came out. So, what visual could she use?

  Her new cups and saucers called to her from the cupboard. Of course! She pulled out the lace tablecloth her grandmother had given her and draped it over her coffee table. Hmm. Just cups and saucers wouldn’t work. She made an emergency run to Bailey Black’s tea shop and purchased some of Bailey’s lavender cookies.

  “I didn’t think you were big on sweets,” Bailey said in surprise as she loaded up the perfect cookies Griffin had selected.

  “I’m not, but I want to feature these in a picture. I’ll say I got them at Tea Time.”

  “Really? That’s so cool. And in that case, the cookies are free.”

  “It’s only for my blog,” Griffin said.

  “It’s great advertising,” Bailey said. “And for the cost of some cookies? Anytime.”

  In addition to the cookies, Bailey threw in a couple of Sweet Dreams truffles and some petits fours. Delighted, Griffin thanked her and hurried back home. It took her forty minutes to get everything set up but she was happy with the way her picture turned out. She posted it with the blog, which she’d titled “New Friends and Old Treasures.”

  Then she put all the goodies in a plastic container and braved the rain once more to drop them off at Stef’s. With her house a mess, Stef could use some cheering up. No one was home yet, so Griffin left them on the porch and texted her friend.